TransformersMech Exchange
by Crystal Shekeira
Summary: A collection of stories based in the LJ Community, TF Mech Exchange. One-shots with original characters.
1. Casusfere's The Seeklets

**Author's Note: These tales were written for the LiveJournal Community, "TFMechExchange", and as such, all characters portrayed herein are the property of their respective creators. The tales are not interconnected, unless otherwise noted.**

Seeklet Short Story  
TF-Mech Exchange Lightning Round  
Sept '07

"Here kitty, kitty."

Hotstrike, better known to her brothers as Scritch, sat sprawl-legged beneath the shade of a large maple tree. She had a torn-off branch clutched in one small fist, idly doodling in the loam. Taser's coaxing croon brought her head up. He was crouched between two thick pieces of brush, his aft wiggling from side to side.

"Here kitty, kitty."

Scritch frowned. "What're you doin'?"

Taser's reply was couched in a low hiss. "Quiet! You'll scare the kitty!"

"Kitty? What kitty?"

"Ravage, duh," Blackmark – or, Stick – noted from his perch in the branches above Scritch's head.

"It's not Ravage!" Taser pulled his head back and scrunched his facial plates petulantly. "Ravage ain't yellow."

Scritch twirled the branch, chewing on it thoughtfully. Or what she hoped was a thoughtful manner. The humans on the vid did it all the time. "Well, he was that time we got into Scavenger's lacquer." She spat the branch out and scrubbed at her lip components with a blue, red-trimmed hand. Ugh!

Stick chuckled, swinging his black legs. That was one of his favorite pranks. Taser, on the other hand, was less than impressed. "C'mon!"

He ran over to Scritch and grabbed her by the shoulder strut, all but hauling her to her feet. The seeklet femme stumbled, afterburners creating ruts in the loam. "Ease off, will ya?" She pushed Taser's hands from her shoulders and got on her hands and knee-caps, sticking her head into the brush.

Heavy panting, a whiff of Energon, washed over her. The great burnished yellow muzzle of a metallic cat lay within millimeters of her nasal ridge. It was _not_ Ravage.

Scritch's optics nearly exploded from their sockets. She scrabbled backwards, fire licking at her heels as she sought to transform. Dry needles caught, spreading like wildfire across the forest floor. "RUN!" she screamed over all-comm as the not-Ravage bolted from cover.

Taser took one look at the gaping jaws and decided that this was not a kitty to play with. Stick, still perched in the tree, narrowed his optics as his yellow and purple brother took to the sky a nanosecond later. "Don't leave me!" he yelled, more concerned with being left behind than the fire or the primitive Autobot on the ground.

Steeljaw howled frustration. He leapt, snapping at tailfins before crashing to the ground, surrounded by fire. Growling, he proceeded to try and stamp out the flamelets, calling for Inferno.

Above, the three seeklets circled and headed for home.


	2. Lizkay's SilverSide

SilverSide Story  
TF-Mech Exchange October '07

_Optimus Prime has a cruel sense of humor_, SilverSide muttered to himself as he hunkered low on the wet asphalt, trying in vain to avoid the fat droplets. _And here I thought Megatron was the sadistic one. Prime far surpasses him in that respect._ No Autobot – with the exception of Hound and Trailbreaker – liked to be paired with the foul-mouthed, pessimistic, traitor-sniffing Cliffjumper. Patrol with the red Minibot was considered a form of punishment by some Autobots, and when Prowl handed out the orders, SilverSide wondered if he had done something wrong.

After going through the last few weeks in his cortex, the black Opel Corsa C DTi could find no black marks on his record to warrant such a sentence. He even tried to get the little grey comm officer to hack into Prowl's files. She merely stared at him, smiled and shook her head. Having filled his social quota for the day, SilverSide decided that Prime was indeed a crueler leader than Megatron. Why else would he stick SilverSide, a mech with a reputation for working alone – and a Decepticon past – with a Minibot who turned on his own at the merest whiff of wrongness?

It was not going to be a pleasant patrol.

_"Hey, care to cut the green ghoul glow?"_

SilverSide swung an irritated bumper sensor in Cliffjumper's direction. The Minibot was having a difficult time slogging through the hard rain, low-riding through puddles that merely brushed the pioneer at mid-rim.

_"Listen, side-switcher, this ain't no party for me. Cut the glow! I can't see!"_

Cliffjumper was referring to the glow from SilverSide's undercarriage, a nice touch when he'd been reconfigured. _"Maybe you should seek an upgrade," _SilverSide told him before returning his attention to the road and his misery.

_"Yeah, an upgrade,"_ the Minibot muttered over the comm. _"I dunno why Prowl sends me on these slaggin' missions … and with a former 'con. Slag …"_

So, maybe it wasn't punishment for him – rather, for _Cliffjumper_. SilverSide tossed that bit of revelation around before losing interest. All he wanted was this trip of the sector over and done with, to be back in his berth, blow-dried and towel-dried until he shone.

_"Are you going to shut that light off?"_ Cliffjumper demanded. _"I don't want to roll into a ditch, for Primus' sake."_

_The Pit forefend_, SilverSide grumbled. He _should_ keep the lights on, just to see if the Minibot would indeed do a rollover. It might even prove eventful. But his status with the Autobots, even with Optimus Prime – who was really too trusting to be a warlord – was too tenuous to attempt such a prank.

_Click_.

_"Thank Primus,"_ Cliffjumper mumbled as the asphalt lost its green overtones.

Truth be told, SilverSide felt a little naked without the adornment. Its glow cast a little color on this otherwise stark – and _wet_ – trip. Earth was a vibrant world, but when things got ugly, so did the scenery. And the driving conditions.

They rolled through Portland and immediately got stuck in the evening traffic crowd. Here the downpour lessened with the crush of buildings, but droplets still found their way to SilverSide's armor. He flicked his sensors right and left, using his Decepticon past to gauge whether or not the situation was ripe for an attack, despite the fact that this was downtown Portland. Not exactly a hotbed of scientific activity – that time had passed. The Decepticons now concentrated in southern Tennessee, where a new Autobot city was under development. Still, SilverSide didn't put anything past Megatron.

_"What're you thinking?"_ Cliffjumper asked suspiciously as they crawled through midtown.

SilverSide ignored him. Not the best strategy, all things considered.

Cliffjumper's engine rumbled at the slight. _"Yeah, keep up with the silent treatment, 'con …"_

The Minibot never got to finish his vitriol-laden jab. SilverSide's sensors blazed, and in the middle of traffic, he transformed, looming over Cliffjumper. Cars honked and drivers yelled in surprise. Chaos erupted in the form of feet slamming gas pedals. Two cars clipped the bumpers of those in front of them and rolled over the sidewalk.

Red Cliffjumper swung onto his feet, straddling two horrified citizens. "Right on! Action!"

SilverSide growled and lifted a hand, only to snap around. Heavy-footed running vibrated through the pavement, sending minor shockwaves up his legs. Cars swayed and buildings trembled slightly. "Call base," he snapped at Cliffjumper. "We have to lead them out of the city!" He took off running, dodging humans and cars with a step more light-footed than anyone would have thought possible.

"Hey! What!?" Cliffjumper shouted at him as he ran past. SilverSide caught the barest of glimpses of the Minibot's facial planes: shock and confusion. Why would a former Decepticon care about squishy casualties?

_If I need to prove anything to you_, the black mech thought as he ran through the clogged streets, pausing only to eject his blades, _than this better be it_.

A Predacon leapt out at him from beneath an underpass as SilverSide pulled away from the human population. They went down in a tangle of black and orange metal, crashing up against one of the thicker supports. Cement and steel groaned, coating the combatants with a fine layer of dust. Though his hands were filled with sharp yellow jaws, SilverSide heard the sounds of panicked humans above them. As he wrestled the Predacon Commander, Razorclaw, an optic caught several humans staring down at them.

The black and orange Lion laughed. "Lucky me, catching a wayward spark. Didja know that there's a bounty on your sorry, treacherous helm?"

SilverSide knew. He also knew that the bounty fluctuated every time Megatron remembered who he was. Right now it was fairly low, but if –when – he managed to get out of Razorclaw's grasp, and the Lion returned to his leader, it would go up.

He was also aware that Predacons did not go on solo missions. Where there was one, another – or all five – were to be found.

With a grunt, SilverSide dug his feet into Razorclaw's torso and heaved the Lion away. The Predacon tumbled through the air, twisting his alt-mode in a manner that was so smoothly feline, his form almost appeared to be liquid metal. Razorclaw landed neatly on all four legs, pausing only a nanosecond to gather himself before launching head-first into the former Decepticon. Metal crashed against metal, gouges forming on either party; SilverSide's claw-marks might have been shallower, but they were no less effective than the rents Razorclaw put into his armor.

Energon and coolant pooled on the pavement beneath their feet. Green fluid leaked out of the corner of SilverSide's mouth, and several lines of blue dotted Razorclaw's frame. Around and around they circled, scoring minor hits on each other.

"I grow tired of this dance," Razorclaw growled, swinging up onto his hind legs. He transformed and pulled his rifle from subspace. With a crack of thunder, the energy weapon went off – hitting not SilverSide, but the ramp above him. The structure howled in agony and tipped to the side. Rubble slid off the edge.

For a moment, SilverSide paused. The Decepticon in him ignored the screams, wanting only the kill. The Autobot sigil he now wore burned into his spark, angry at this breach of faction loyalty.

In that one second, Razorclaw sighted the black mech.

SilverSide groaned. The red face of Primus blazed – and he reacted. With one smooth motion, he whipped his blade in a screaming arc towards Razorclaw, and jumped backwards to catch the tipping bridge with both hands.

Through the raining dust, he saw Cliffjumper running towards him. Weight pressed down from above; at his feet, pavement groaned and snapped. SilverSide bobbled, hands over his head, fingers digging into the overpass. His feet were trapped in the roadway. A slow trickle of Energon wove its way down his chestplate; coolant from his lips bubbled.

"Hey, buddy! Hold on!"

The pressure was rising, on the inside and out. SilverSide grimaced, his engine racing as the weight continued to press downwards. His system howled; pie-charts and graphs were thrown up in the corners of his optics, warning him of impending stasis-lock.

The next thing he knew, Cliffjumper was scrambling up and over his shoulders, wedging himself between the black mech's shoulder plates and the underpass. "Push up!" the Minibot commanded.

Mindless, SilverSide did as he was told. With a lurch, he dug his feet into the huge potholes in the pavement; Cliffjumper rose up, his sturdy Minibot shoulders braced against the underpass's pillar. "C'mon, buddy! Up!"

Where the strength came from, SilverSide could not say. He heaved, using the waning energy in his system to keep Cliffjumper in place. "Good one," the Minibot called down, his feet locked on either side of SilverSide's head.

OoOoOoOo

The Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet, retracted his laser scalpel, stood up and dusted off his hands. "You'll hold until we get you back to the Ark," he pronounced. With hands on hips, the white mech surveyed the damage wrought to the underpass. A small contingent of Autobots was working on welding the structure back together. "You did a good job," Ratchet told him.

SilverSide shrugged, staring at the thin lines that marred his satin patina. "I'm an Autobot, aren't I?"

"I'd say so. That red symbol on your chest isn't a sticker, that's for sure," the CMO groused. Ratchet turned, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "So, who'd you slice in half? There's Energon and coolant all over the place."

SilverSide looked up, mildly surprised. He had made a wild throw – and it had found its target. "A Predacon."

There was a chuckle from behind Ratchet. Cliffjumper appeared, carrying two thin cans of high grade. "Yeah, he sliced Razorclaw pretty good. Divebomb was bobbing and weaving the whole way out on account ol' catface was nearly cut in two. Here." The red Minibot shuffled past Ratchet and held out one can.

Warily, SilverSide took the can. Cliffjumper said nothing more, only cracking open his and finishing it in one long swig. With a grin, the Minibot walked off, crunching the can. Ratchet didn't watch him leave, but made a quiet observation. "You're in with him," the CMO said. "Cliffjumper can be a pain in the aft, he has the Autobot cause's best interest in mind."

"I don't need his approval," SilverSide muttered, cracking the can and sipping slowly. His system beeped merrily at the added fuel.

"No, I suppose you don't. But we're a still a small operation here, and personal opinions tend to weigh heavily."

The can turned in his hands. SilverSide supposed the medic was right. He gulped the last of the high grade and subspaced the can. The Autobots were an unusual bunch; not as soft as most Decepticons were trained to believe. Maybe he would consider Cliffjumper's seal of approval – but there was so much for him to mull over.

He got to his feet. Movement was stiff, but not as restricting as Ratchet's previous mumbling had made him believe. Transforming, he rolled past Ratchet and onto the highway.

There had to be a carwash around here somewhere.


	3. Silverwolf06's Silvershot

Silvershot  
TF-Mech Exchange Nov '07

**I Plum Forgot About the Autobots**

So, this was down-town Trenton, Silvershot mused, easing her wheels across the hole-strewn pavement. Traffic was bumper to bumper, backed up all the way to the highway exit. No one had told her to expect delays. Blowing a sigh through her tailpipe, Silvershot swung her sensors across the double row of cars. Most of the license plates were from New Jersey; the rest were stamped with the ubiquitous Statue of Liberty, the symbol of the state of New York. Humans labeled themselves in so many ways, she was quick to find out. They called themselves by the city they heralded from, the state, the country … they even labeled themselves after sports teams. Having developed a fondness for NASCAR, Silvershot could appreciate the fervor, but she wasn't too sure about the fanaticism. That part of human culture was never more evident than when she saw a Massachusetts car with a huge sticker of two red socks get splattered with eggs by a human male wearing a blue hat with an intertwined N and Y.

The shouting that ensued was grating on her neuros, so she cranked Megumi Hayashibara on her radio and continued to idle. And inch up. It was going to take her forever to make it to the new substation. Prowl wouldn't be happy; Ironhide might have a few choice words, but he was less strict on timing than the subcommander. A quick check of her chronometer told her that she had enough time to spare, but if things didn't pick up in a half an hour, she would have to transform and tip-toe through the mass of cars. It wouldn't do for the humans and more than a few car parts, but sometimes they had to forego such niceties.

Idle, move; idle, move.

_Torture would be preferable to this_, she thought. Having been the subject of such abuse, Silvershot was mightily bored.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it any more, traffic hiccupped and lurched forward. Four humans laid on their horns behind her when she rolled an inch and stopped to idle. A flicker of annoyance ran through her system; Silvershot made her holodriver give a human goodwill gesture to each of them before racing forward. Calling up a map of Trenton, she eased off the main drag took several side streets before coming out onto Hamilton Avenue.

There was a bond office to the right, and Silvershot rolled passed it with mild curiosity. Humans had a strange judicial system. They allowed offenders to be released to society under a "bond" that was put up for them by family or friends. This bond assured the court that the accused would return to face trial, otherwise the friends or family would face a penalty.

Humans were different than Cybertronians in a lot of ways, but in others they were perfectly similar. Such as … such as … _Okay, I'm a little fuzzy on those details_, she allowed, rolling to a stop at an intersection light_. I haven't exactly been here that long … Hey …_

The light changed, but just as she was about to roll through, a tall pale-skinned male burst out of a building to her right. He was trailing two pairs of handcuffs, the human equivalent of energy-bonds, from his right wrist and left ankle. Silvershot put on the brakes, screeching to a halt inches from the sprinting man. With surprising agility, he spun around, slammed his hands on her black racing stripes, spat and darted away.

Startlement quickly turned into anger. The silver Lamborghini Gallardo revved her engine, the sweet purr turning into a deadly roar. Why that … And slammed again on her brakes. Two women had broken through the same door; they darted after the cuff-trailing man, stumbling over each other in their haste.

_"Silvershot!"_

Subcommander Prowl's voice almost exploded over her comm system. With a pop that came from her tailpipe, Silvershot cut off "Koi no Scramble Race". _"Sir?"_

_"We have you off the scanner. Where are you?"_

The two women untangled themselves and were making for a baby blue Scion when it suddenly erupted into flames.

"Holy Cybertron!" Silvershot exclaimed. She revved and shot forward, spinning on her inner wheels next to the burning shell of the Scion.

_"Silvershot. Answer me. What is going on?"_ Prowl's calm voice cut through the panic that kept the Lambo femme locked into vehicle mode. She angled towards the carnage, blocking the flow of traffic with her body.

The pale-skinned female was standing with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a silver phone. The other woman was very large, almost round; her black-skinned body seemed to be crammed into form-fitting green pants and a shirt that looked far too small – and too thin – for this fall weather. Her breasts looked like they were about to explode from the scoop neck of the shirt.

_"Silvershot!"_

Oh, slag. _"Sorry, commander. I'm parked in front of a small explosion."_

_"Where?"_

_"Uh …"_ She glanced around, trying to locate a street sign when the black woman's hands closed over her side door.

"Hey, lady … nice 'do, but do you mind helping us here? Steph blew up another car and we gotta catch our FTA."

Completely taken aback, Silvershot's hold on her holographic driver slipped. She watched the black woman's face crumple into shock … then horror.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, leaping back. "Stephanie! You gotta check out this crazy shit. I ain't seen anything like it!"

"Hey!" Silvershot called out. "Wait! I can call for help."

A siren's wail cut through the roar of the flames. The brown-haired woman turned, surprise on her face. "Wow, they're gettin' good," the black woman said, her eyes cutting to Silvershot and back to the cruiser. "Officer Hottie's got them hopping."

_I have to go_, Silvershot thought, _but these women seem to need help._ _Prowl won't mind … I hope_. Maybe they would tell her why they were chasing that man, and why he was in cuffs. Of course, that meant transforming.

The cruiser rolled into view, screaming to a halt in front of the burning wreckage. Prowl. Silvershot started to call out, but the black woman was running towards the Autobot second-in-command. The brown-haired woman, Stephanie, pocketed the cell phone and started walking towards Prowl. _"Sir,"_ Silvershot sent respectfully.

Prowl remained in carmode.

"Hey!" the black woman exclaimed. "There's no one driving this car! Stephanie! Look!"

Silvershot was about to resend her greeting when she caught something out of the corner of her rear sensor. It was the same male the two women had been chasing. They didn't seem to be shying from officers, so they had to be connected somehow. _At least, that's what I'm going to say_, Silvershot told herself as she backed away. Once she set her cortex on a matter, it was difficult to pull her away from the task. Especially one that allowed her to race her beautiful engine – as fake as it was.

_"Where are you going?"_ Prowl demanded as she streaked down the street, laying strips of high-grade rubber on the pavement.

_"After him,"_ she told him, slowing marginally in case she was directly ordered to return.

_"Good. Bring him back. These two ladies are bounty hunters. He's jumped bond."_

The unlikely comment from irascible Prowl almost sent Silvershot into a spin. Quickly, she pulled her tired back onto the road and laid more rubber. _Bounty hunters?_

The silver and black Lambo shot across the street, spinning over onto another side street, which quickly opened up onto a small park. The trees were in full color, a slight breeze blowing across the short grass and bringing several clumps down. They drifted to the ground and were immediately run over by Silvershot's tires. She swung her sensors in both directions, even checking overhead as she jumped the barrier dividing the parking lot from the park.

Carrying extra weight and obviously winded, her quarry cut left. He stumbled and rolled into a flailing dive. Silvershot transformed right under the boughs of two large oak trees. Her doorwings caught the branches in the middle, her helm wreathed. "Ugh," Silvershot grunted; keeping one golden optic on the male, she reached around to pull herself free.

"What are you?" he screamed, panting and rolling on the ground, trying to pry the cuffs off his limbs. "I just missed a court date! Those fuckin' bitches send a robot after me!"

Robot? … _robot_?

"I think you better come with me," Silvershot told him, trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions. She hadn't been on Earth that long and to be seen mis-handling a human wouldn't place her high on Prowl's list. Not that she seemed to be riding a rocket to the top right now. _"Silvershot to Prowl."_ For good measure, she slipped Infinity out of subspace and aimed the giant cannon two-fisted at the man.

_"Prowl here."_

_"I have the runaway."_

There was a mild pause. _"Very good. Please bring him here. Ms. Plum and her friend Lula are tied up with the fire department right now. I cannot come to escort."_

Uhm. Silvershot bit her lower lip component and shifted Infinity back to subspace. There was no way she'd let him ride, so he was going to have to be carried. _"Affirmative,"_ she added when the silence stretched uncomfortably. "Stand up," she told the man. He shot her a look that told her exactly where she could go. Fortunately, he was out of fuel. Silvershot looked around but didn't see anyone. Well, those bonds were there for a reason …

Reaching out, she grabbed a hold of the bonds and, after a few minutes of swearing on both their parts – his, feebly – Silvershot managed to get them successfully locked. _Now, how to carry him?_ she mused, staring down at the pathetic lump of flesh at her feet. Her doorwings twitched and she felt a squirrel race across her shoulder plates. Twitching, all of her metal frame shaking in an effort to loosen the animal, Silvershot finally decided.

oOoOoOo

"I think I found myself my own Officer Hottie," Lula was telling Stephanie when a stocky female Autobot came waltzing up the street, their FTA – or, in bond-speak, failure-to-appear – under her arm. Stephanie sighed, frowning disconcertedly as her breath frosted slightly in the cooling air; she resorted to picking pieces of wood out of her shoulder-length brown hair. Trust Lula to develop a crush on an alien robot. At least Morelli was taking this calmly … or so he seemed. Her Italian officer boyfriend was chatting amiably with the Autobot Prowl, who had scared the bejebbus out of Lula when he suddenly unfolded from his car-form. To tell you the truth, Stephanie wet herself a little when that happened.

Now the day wasn't shot. True, her newest car had been blown up – by whom? – but her FTA was in custody.

"I don't think he's looking, Lula," Stephanie told her, watching as the silver and black female Autobot knelt on the pavement and set Harold Walts in front of her. Broken tree limbs and more than a few clumps of leaves were plastered all over the gleaming frame. She – at least, Stephanie thought it was female … you couldn't tell with these aliens – remained kneeling, one long-fingered hand hooked into the cuffs at Walts' back.

Lula laughed. "Well, look at that. Little Miss Supercar brought back old skippy here. _And_ with the cuffs! Your pervert cousin's gonna be pleased."

Stephanie looked up at the silver and black Autobot. "Thank you." The half-black, half-silver features with huge octagonal eyes, their flat planes made of a glass-like substance, stretched upwards and she smiled shyly, revealing a smidgen of what looked like teeth.

"You're welcome," came the soft, hesitant reply. She broke eye contact with Stephanie and looked up at the police car Autobot. "I'm sorry for the delay, sir."

Above their heads, the Autobot Prowl huffed. It smelled almost like exhaust, but not as poisonous. At least it didn't make her choke. "In this case, a delay is allowed. We're here to protect as well as defend from the Decepticons. You did well, Silvershot."

Lula walked around the cuffed Walts. "Hey, what's this? The cuffs are welded together! They're useless!"

"Silvershot …" the Autobot Prowl warned.

The bi-colored metal that made up the female alien's face flushed to an impossible red-tinge. "Oops. I guess I was trying too hard to get the bonds on."

"That's quite all right," Prowl nodded to an officer who had walked around him. "I'm sure officer Morelli can cut them off at the station."

Stephanie wanted to laugh, but the look Morelli was giving her stifled it into a coughing giggle. Oh well, she kept a running tab with her cousin Vinnie for cuffs anyway.

"Hey, hey you," she heard Lula say to the female, Silvershot. "Want a job in bounty hunting? We could catch every mo'fo in the Burg with you on our side."

Stephanie wasn't the only one to groan as the female Autobot's face lit up like a beacon. "Where do I sign up?" she asked, taking out two very large guns and twirling them around like a space cowboy. As if life wasn't complicated enough …


	4. Kimbo Demonica's Shatterhowl

TF-Mech Exchange Adoption  
Shatterhowl  
**Red Snout Elimination**

There had been a time when Shatterhowl had tracked and eliminated her prey on the metallic plains of Cybertron. Her environment had changed – with little complaint from the cyberbeast – and her new surroundings made the homeworld seem downright sterile. The scents and sounds were more subtle, almost aggravatingly so; their levels and complexities sure to stymie all but the most dedicated of trackers. Shatterhowl knew her limits, but she wouldn't admit them to anyone, least of all her comrades. From the moment she arrived on this mudball, she threw herself into learning the complex nature of flora and fauna, and how to stalk a Cybertronian using them as cover.

Though she had calculated her ratios as carefully as possible, she still lagged far behind Soundwave's minion, Ravage. Ranking second to the bound Decepticon clotted oil in her tracts, so much so she stooped to finding the key to his success. When outright spying on the Cat failed to yield answers, she bribed one of the lesser soldiers to listen in on Ravage's communications. Much to her irritation, the Cat somehow found out he was being monitored and effectively shut down the drone that Shatterhowl had used. Caustic bile churned in her metallic belly for weeks afterwards – not so much losing a way to gain an edge, but that Ravage, instead of attacking her directly, used the drone to give a lesson. It was a common-enough technique, one that even Megatron employed on the rare occasion he didn't outright eliminate the detractor. Not that Shatterhowl was sympathetic … no, no – what was one less Seeker drone to her? It was the fact that Ravage was playing with her. And if the cyberbeast had learned anything about Earth culture, it was that cats and dogs did not like each other. Indeed, Ravage seemed to take the role further, incorporating it into his core personality, making it who he was.

It was then, as Shatterhowl lay gnawing on the Energon-oozing trylithium structure of her latest kill, did she figure out Ravage's success. He didn't just use the form he'd been given, he'd _become_ the form. From that moment on, Shatterhowl became a _wolf_ – but not just an ordinary wolf. Wolves, as she was quick to learn, were pack animals, dependant on each other for the success of a kill. So no, Shatterhowl was not just a wolf, she also incorporated the essence of a reptile humans called a _snake_ into her personality component. Snakes were lone hunters, swift and agile, ones who stalked their prey with near invisibility and silence. And so she wove herself into the complexity that was a _chimaera_, rerouting neurological pathways until she was one with the idea.

The look on the Black Cat's face when she started rising in the kill ranks was enough to make her preen. Suffice to say, the chimaera femme kept her counsel.

Today, deep in the barrenness of the forest, Shatterhowl stalked no one in particular. She had several options: scout around Autobot City, investigate the latest scheme of the Terrorcons, or spy on the Predacons. Listening to the newest machinations of the subgroups always bored her; nothing could ruin her day more than getting scorched by a two-headed, lumbering reptile. And so, it was off to Autobot City. At least the Autobots could always be counted on to provide her with some sort of amusement – from their incomprehensible relationship with the main organics of this world, to the stalwart belief that every sentient being had the right to be free.

A stray branch blocked her path as she jogged over brown needles and moldering leaves. With a grim twist of her metallic jaws, Shatterhowl took down the whole dormant sapling, crushing its fragile bark under her diamond-sharp claws. Caustic bile boiled in her chest cavity; the chimaera shoved it back down. This exercise would be of no use to her if she burned down all of her cover.

Her long legs soon brought her to the first of the Autobot defense systems. It was a sensor, cleverly built in to the bark of a large oak tree. Less sensitive olfactory sensors may have passed it by, but Shatterhowl was able to sift its scent from the surrounding wood. Ducking her head, she bypassed the path and shouldered her way through the deeper brush. _Clever fools_, she mused. _Forcing me to get tangled_. And it would have worked, had the chimaera femme not had caustic spray at her disposal. A prudent jet here, another towards the ground and, _by the Pit_, she was free.

With a shrug of her massive shoulder plates, Shatterhowl thrust her forequarters through the tangle. What she saw caused her to drop her jaw in a decidedly lupine grin. She stood on a steeply sloping hill; needles ended and browning grass began, only to stop short at the edge. From there, the slope dropped steeply, a diagonal wall of shale, dirt and stone. Cautiously, Shatterhowl put her nose to the line, her myriad processors crunching the information and purging the results almost immediately. _One must never underestimate the enemy, even if they have sympathetic tendencies_, the chimaera femme reminded herself as she broke free her hindquarters. One paw, then the other toed the line. Finding nothing, she lifted her red and black head, lifting razor-sharp horns to the sky. Beyond the shale slope was a rocky graveyard, filled with boulders and other mismatched pieces of scrap. And beyond _that_ was the Autobots' training ground.

Shatterhowl magnified her vision, shooting across the intervening space and placing herself smartly on the edge of the course. Lowering herself to her haunches, she watched three Autobots, two femmes and a mech, race across the grounds, battling simulated explosions, a vile whirlwind and several scything blades. The techniques these groundling trainees employed were purely textbook … which was why they failed before they got to the second part of the course. Despite herself, Shatterhowl found her claws itching and her pistons pumping to try her own mettle against the Autobot constructs.

_Easy, 'howl, easy_, she reminded herself, lowering her belly to the ground with a mild growl of protest. _It is time to watch the prey._ Not so easy to do given her faction and the mixed personality components within her cortex. Slowly, Shatterhowl inched across the needles and grass until her forepaws hung over the edge of the shale bank. Her optics widened, cortex filing information away. Megatron would reward her and _that_ would teach the Cat a lesson about messing with wolves.

A small giggle of power escaped those razor jaws. Instantly, Shatterhowl clamped them shut, her aural tract wide open, short-range scanners skimming the surface for tell-tale radio signals. There was silence along all lines, but just to be safe, she rose from her crouch. There was enough information filed away in her data banks to fuel several offensives, if not a siege on the City. As the chimaera femme turned, her hind foot caught a piece of slippery shale.

_Wha—!!_

Shock impeded her balance; as Shatterhowl fought for control, her other foot caught the shale and her whole body fell off the edge. _By the Pit!_ The heavy metallic cyberbeast went tumbling horned head over bladed tail down the embankment, clawed feet flailing in a vain attempt to slow her hurtling form down.

Pain blossomed along Shatterhowl's red and black armor as each rock and scrap made itself intimately known with her exposed wiring. The world spun and faded into long strips of black and white, the lines flickering across her vision. In short time, all that Shatterhowl knew could be summed up in this miasma. Even her thoughts were lost in the jumble of rock, metal and scattered vision.

And then it was over.

Through the pain, the chimaera femme felt herself hit something unmoving. The thick plating along her beast head absorbed the brunt of impact; it was the residual tremors that shook her optical components back into place. Sparked and trained as a Decepticon, she did not lay there and wonder about what was damaged.

_Get up! Get fighting!_

Swiftly, she jumped to all fours, mouth open, caustic bile burning in its special chamber. _Enemy!_ The Autobot to her right staggered backwards, bellowing in pain as its plating was enveloped in the corrosive agent. Shatterhowl spun, relying on her honed aural components rather than her grainy vision. She jumped the next, lashing out with her bladed tail. Plasma-honed steel bit deep into the Autobot's leg armor; warm Energon mixed with coolant splashed against her hindquarters. Her prey gave one final cry before falling backwards.

_I can see!_ she howled, springing away and onto the next victim. The less survivors, the better chance she had of making it back to the woods without getting slagged. By now, someone would have placed a call to the City for reinforcements. Bunching her hind hydraulics, Shatterhowl could make out the whine of huge engines emanating from the City proper. Her optics locked onto the third and final Autobot – a grey femme with avian wings.

A shot rang out, pinging the rocks beneath her belly. Bile dribbled from Shatterhowl's jaws in anticipation. Before the femme could let another round go, the red and black cyberbeast launched herself. _To take out Solarflare …_ she ruminated as her long and lithe beastform stretched out to its full extension. _The hen of the City._ Solarflare was no prize – not as say, Prowl, Jazz, Ultra Magnus or even Prime … but she had a reputation for not being "allowed" outside. And that in of itself amused Shatterhowl. If the Autobots valued this femme so dearly, it would weaken them to find that she had been eliminated.

All of this flashed through Shatterhowl's cortex in a nanosecond, but it was all the femme Solarflare needed to strike. Shatterhowl shuttered her optics once, then saw a pair of huge taloned feet overtake her field of view.

_UGH_!

Hundreds of neurons in Shatterhowl's long jaw blazed to life. Sharp, painful life. A loud crunch in the vicinity of her reinforced chestplates, along with accompanying piechart, told her that she had come dangerously close to rupturing her Energon chamber.

The grey femme receded from her field of view; all Shatterhowl could see before she flipped over was the femme's wings fanning behind her. And then she met the ground – _hard_.

**Power at 75-percent and failing. Stasis-lock in 10.4 … 10.35.**

"Override; emergency clamps." Words were chewed, rather than spoken. They rumbled up through her voice box and emerged from a muzzle that was dripping oil and a splattering of caustic bile. "Diagnostic," she whispered even as she forced her legs to comply with her commands. A quick glance revealed that Solarflare was inching towards her, pistol in hand. An Autobot jet screamed overhead.

**35-percent damage to frontal; 15-percent damage to rear. Internal damage at 25-percent. Power failing**.

_Initiate clamps_, she ordered again. **Complying**, came the hesitant reply.

_Ikkchhiiikkk_!

Shatterhowl's whole body twitched, writhed on the rocky ground. A swarm of nanobots were released from her cortex, flying down her synthetic veins to begin repair work. She had ordered more than twice the usual supply, which would drain her more rapidly than had she allowed things to progress normally. _Progress before pain_, she told herself, levering one leg, then the rest. Licking oil from her jaws, she squared her body against the grey femme.

And leapt.

The shock on Solarflare's face curled pleasure in Shatterhowl's Energon pump. Dismissing the tiny, nattering computer in her cortex, the chimaera lunged forward, sinking her steel teeth into the right leading edge of the other femme's wing. She was rewarded with a high-pitched scream that was more keen than howl. Setting her paws to the femme's chestplate, Shatterhowl twisted, setting her teeth further into the grey-painted metal, crunching down and down, to the root of the wing. _Pluck the wings, ground the bird._ Sawed-off wiring snaked into her mouth, sparking against her metallic palate. Shatterhowl coughed and purged a load of acid into the wound.

The scream was delicious. The pain that followed was not.

Peripherally, she almost missed the black taloned fist that swung in her direction. Long black claws connected with the back of her head, their honed points jabbing into the gap between neck joints and helm. The plate lifted and Shatterhowl had to follow, lest she lose the armor.

Teeth gnashing, the cyberbeast danced backwards, lashing her tail in a whipping arc. A low growl bubbled in her chest, rising through her damaged throat and through her dripping jaws. Steely yellow optics narrowed as the grey femme rose to her feet, shakily. Shatterhowl followed Solarflare's movement, noting where the acid was eating away at more of her wing.

"Come," she growled.

Solarflare's hands curled into fists and she lowered herself into a crouch. Shatterhowl mimicked her, ignoring the ringing protests in her inner aural tract. Beast against beast, wolf against eagle.

A smart tattoo of laserfire lit up the stark ground in a loose semi-circle. Purple, not orange. Shatterhowl glanced to the sky, seeking and finding a Decepticon jet spinning into the combat zone. Solarflare jumped backwards, lifting both arms to the sky; white metal of her forearms peeled back as she fired into the air.

Shatterhowl licked her jaws and studied the tableau for a moment. Unlike Autobot air cover, Decepticon cover lasted only minutes. Enough to get away. With a final blast of acid, Shatterhowl spun on her hindquarters and galloped back to the woods. _I hope you know that it wasn't my idea_, Autobot, she threw in Solarflare's direction. _Next time, we'll have fun._

Where there had been a giant red-black beast, now lay woods and the thinnest trail of Energon.


	5. Sister Dear's Chase

TF-Mech Exchange Dec '07  
Chase  
**Happy Holly-Days**

He'd known about the coming of a very important human holiday since the passage of their gathering festival known as "Thanksgiving". Actually, it was before the massive digestion of turkeys that the word "Christmas" had begun to circulate. Most of the Autobots, particularly the Ark crew, were jabbering about what they were going to give each other as presents, or how to decorate certain bunks, rooms or the City.

Chase idly used the rotor blades on his right forearm to rub an exposed wire at his lower back. Even after a long recharge period, his repairs still ached in certain places. _Well, you did push yourself over the Terrorcon border_, he reminded himself. And carrying nearly two tons of supplies. Being shot at didn't help, either. Ruefully, Chase glanced down at his legs. Long, smokey burns ran up his calf-plates, past his kneecaps and covered his wheels – the CMO, Ratchet, hadn't deigned those worthy enough to fix himself. Rather, Chase had an appointment with a human detailer by the name of Raoul in a few hours. Which was all the better – Ratchet scared the ever-loving spark out of Chase; then again, the Mustang bomber mused as he clanked through the halls of Autobot City, the CMO could make anyone but Subcommander Prowl and Optimus Prime lay a trail of liquid boron.

The huge double doors to the mess hall were stuck tight in their recesses. Sounds of chatter, both human and Autobot, filtered out into the hallway. Overhead speakers rang out with the odd music humans called "Christmas songs"; the marquee board the spanned the length of the mess alternately ran assignment notices coupled with holiday announcements.

Chase wandered up to the bar and ordered a tank of oil and a bowl of ion sticks from the slim blonde human woman standing behind the counter. "Hey, man," a familiar voice called out from above Chase's head.

_Oh, slag_. Chase instinctively ducked out of the way of the friendly clap the saboteur Jazz was prepared to lay on his shoulder plate.

"Ever think of havin' those sensors checked out, man?" the white and black mech asked conversationally. Out of the corner of his optic, Chase saw Jazz's hand hover in mid-air then sweep back to his side.

Collecting his fuel, Chase ducked his head and mumbled, "Jus' saw the CMO," and hustled out of line.

"Funny guy," he heard the blonde comment to Jazz.

Weaving between tables, Chase muttered incomprehensibly to anyone within audio-shot. How he _loathed_ when authority figures tried to play nice! The division was there for a reason; anything else threw clogs into the well-oiled mechanics of the chain of command.

There was a free table under the marquee. Blowing air from his ventilators, Chase slid into the seat under the scrolling bar and set his tray on the table. A light blue femme strolled by and dropped a cheap, thin data pad beside him before whisking away to the next table. The Mustang bomber threw a look in her direction before picking it up. With half a spark, he scrolled through the mundane announcements. The mess hall was gradually filling up as the morning patrols returned; what had once been quiet chatter now rose to a dull roar.

A chair scraped backwards, the grinding of steel on tile jerking Chase's head up. Blue optics set into a white masked face looked down at him. "Hey, fella, mind if I join ya? It's gettin' mighty tight, yanno?"

Inwardly, Chase vented a sigh of relief; it was only Powerglide. The red jet was cocky, too bold and vocal, but he didn't hold any significant rank, outside of being labeled an "Ark-bot". "Sure," and the brown mech waved the data pad towards the pulled-out chair.

"Super." Powerglide angled his stubby crimson form into the chair and slammed a huge mug of high grade onto the table, causing the iridescent fuel to slop slightly over the rim. The drinking vessel had been designed with battlemasks in mind, thus had a modified nozzle at one end. Over the data pad, Chase watched as the jet grabbed his facemask with his left hand, squeezed, and pulled it out slightly; he lifted the mug and threw down the whole contents. With an audible snap, the Minibot returned the mask to its original position. "Hey, is that today's newsletter?"

"Here," and Chase slid it across the table. Picking up his cooling oil, he casually sipped as Powerglide perused the information with more interest than he'd exhibited.

"Awesome, they're setting up decorations tonight. Wanna help? They need Minibots."

Taken aback, Chase felt his optics flutter in surprise. He was mildly affronted. "I'm not a Minibot."

Powerglide's highly expressive face shifted to astonishment. "Oops, sorry, man. Don't get to see you that often. You look kinda small sittin' down."

So he'd been told, Chase muttered internally, popping an ion stick to busy his oral components. Powerglide dipped his head to the pad, then up again. "So, gonna help? It's fun. Stuff always happens. Last time, the Twins hung Solarflare from the ceiling, glued real feathers to her and called her the Christmas goose. The year before that, someone rigged the tree to flash inappropriate words and gestures. And the year before that …" He paused to chuckle at the memory; Chase simply humored him. "… The year before that … old Grimmy dressed up as Santa Clause. Scared some kids oil-less."

Fun? Getting pranked? "Doesn't sound like fun if that stuff happens," he confided.

Powerglide quirked a brow ridge. "Awr, it is. Flare was real cordial about the whole thing … after Mirage filled the Twins' suite with fighting cocks. And the tree was a complete hoot … though, we couldn't have the kiddos in here when it was on."

"And Prime allows this?"

" 'course Prime allows it! He has the officers' mess an' his office decorated each year. Figures if the humans help us with our festivities, we can help with theirs. Besides, they're not that different."

Chase drummed his digits on the tabletop. "You're going to help?"

Powerglide gave him a one-optic sweep. "Yeah, I always do. They need my expertise, yanno." He paused. "Kid, don't get me wrong, but you seem uneasy."

All fuel to his system stopped; oil ran sluggishly through his synthetic veins. "I – uh."

To his surprise, Powerglide nodded. "Yeah, I getcha, being new and all … and a Neutral. It's cool, though, I'll be right there with ya."

Relief vented through the brown bomber's system and everything started running again. If only Powerglide knew the whole story. If the red jet was going to be around, Chase could easily avoid any commanders who happened to walk through. He nodded. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Awesome. I'll meet you here tomorrow. You do have tomorrow off, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." Powerglide gathered his mug and shoved himself to his feet. "See ya at 0800!" More air vented from Chase's system as the jet walked away; the bomber watched him go, following his short, red-plated form through the mess hall. Powerglide stopped for a moment by a table populated with six figures … five of whom happened to be high-rankers. One of them was Jazz. Another was Prowl. The brown femme had to be his partner, Flamestrike; the grey femme was comm officer Solarflare. The white and blue mech, Mirage; the other … he had no idea. Chase hunched into his oil and waited for the clock to tick towards his appointment with Raoul.

OoOoOoOo

Having cycled his recharging berth for 0730, Chase strolled into the mess hall and found himself to be the first one there. He settled his freshly-painted form on the nearest chair and waited. At 0740, the first human detail crew and the mess attendants appeared. They didn't give him a second glance as they began unloading cartons from two hovercarts onto the floor by the long serving countertop. Chase watched them pop the lids and then start laying dark green objects onto the nearest tables. A group of six waded into the center of the mess and began shoving tables out of the way. Since these were Autobot-sized tables, they needed special hydraulic devices that took two of them to operate.

_Best help_, Chase decided. He rose, introduced himself and let them direct him in the moving. By the time 0800 rolled around, a veritable posse of Autobots had stomped into the room. Few words were spoken and more gestures applied.

"Hey, buddy," he heard Powerglide greet. Chase lifted his head and pushed himself away from the last table he'd rearranged. "You're here early."

"I had nothing better to do," he admitted, looking around to the controlled chaos that had suddenly formed around them. Autobots were heaving humans on their shoulders, allowing them to attach bright silver and gold garlands to the eaves. In another corner, lights were being strung. "So, where do we begin?"

Powerglide set his hand to the back of Chase's wing and gently urged him forward. "First, we talk to Miranda here. She's in charge of where things go."

In short time, Chase found himself deeply involved in the placement of not one, but three trees. He was skeptical at first about why humans would want to bring flora indoors, but he was soon lost in the heady pine scent. Even the sticky sap failed to bother him, though it would be a pain to remove later on. He was getting into the whole spirit of the event when a hand clapped him on the leading edge of his right wing.

"More to the left?" he asked around a mouthful of needles.

"Naw, it's fine. Hey, wanna help with something else?"

Spitting pine, Chase pulled his head out of the branches and, keeping one fist firmly clenched on around the tree's trunk, turned to face the unfamiliar voice. It was an Aerialbot, though which one, he wasn't sure of. Optimus' elite flyboy had deep orange facial plates and a visor of a darker color. The black tip of his nosecone jetted several inches above his domed head.

"Uhm, what would that be?"

"C'mon," and the Aerialbot jerked his head towards the back hall. "Fireflight will take over for you." A similarly-built mech with silver facial plates stepped around from his comrade's back and gave the tree a once-over. Without a word, Fireflight reached in and took a grip on the trunk. Chase stepped back, at a loss.

"You're the new transport, aren't you?" the orange-faced Aerialbot asked conversationally as he and Chase walked towards the rear of the hall.

"Chase," he acknowledged. "You are?"

"Slingshot. Ah, here we are."

Chase glanced around. No one was working this back corner yet; everything was to start from the front, fan out sideways before moving here. He looked at the large cardboard box lying by the smaller exit way. "I don't think we're supposed to start back here yet."

Slingshot laughed and clapped him on the wing companion-like. "So they say. But we just got this new mistletoe ball in today and I wanted to have it up. It's a bit awkward, so I'm going to need your help."

Going on one kneecap, Chase parted the flaps. There was a huge ball of green leaf and tiny crimson berries sitting in the center. He tugged experimentally at it and found that Slingshot was right. "Okay," he said, glancing up at the Aerialbot. "I'll get this end and you can get the other." He looked up at the archway. "Do we need a hook?"

"Naw, it's magnetic."

And the next thing Chase knew, he was flying straight into the air, latched to the ball. His head hit the ceiling the next moment; the poor brown bomber could just feel the rounded point of his helm cave a little. Surprise, shock then utter humiliation coursed through his synthetic veins. "Hey! Get me down!" The ball held him fast, he couldn't even move his fingers. Something tugged at his helm; Chase glanced up in horror as the ball's magnetic pull snatched his head and … _clang_. He was face-first in a pile of fake leaves, the round red "berries" jammed into his mouth.

Gravity flowed through his fastened body, making his feet feel heavier than they really were. Chase twisted, turned and alternately called for help. But all he could hear was the booming laugh of Slingshot. Burning humiliation lit his facial planes, with rage underlying that emotion.

"C'mon, guys, who's the first femme to kiss ol' Sling under the bomber-toe?"

"Yo! That's not cool, dude."

Chase wriggled, swinging his legs fervently. Rolling an optic downward, he saw Jazz stalk up to the Aerialbot. "Get him down now," the saboteur ordered coolly.

Slingshot put fisted hands on his hips. "It's a tradition, Jazz."

"Not with th' new guy. Not somethin' so cruel," the white and black returned smoothly.

"Awr, don't ruin it."

"Don' make me get Prowl, man. Take him down nice an' neat and I'll forget it, cool?"

"Fine." Something clicked above Chase's helm and he was _dropping_. Falling, clutching the absurd ball of fake mistletoe. Air whistled out of his vents long enough to create a pretty song before he landed in Jazz's outstretched arms. Chase had enough time to register the shock on Jazz's face before they both dropped like a stone onto the tiled floor. The brown bomber went one way, still holding onto the ball, and Jazz spun in the opposite direction.

"You okay?"

Powerglide's visored face swam into view. Chase shook his head, felt a few things rattle. Carefully, he sat up and realized that he was still holding the ball. With a sound of disgust, he threw it away. It bounced along the floor and rolled to a stop in the middle of the rest of the Autobots.

All staring at him.

Biting his lower lip component in frustration, he angled himself into a sitting position and found his arm gripped by Slingshot. "Hey, man," the Aerialbot said, tightening his grip on Chase's propeller blades, "no hard feelings, okay? I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Should have thought about that before you tricked me." Chase shook off Slingshot's hand and stood. So much for this human spirit of giving and goodwill towards all mankind.

"Yo."

Chase came up short, his exit blocked by Jazz. "You okay, man?" The brown bomber shrugged. _Just let me go_, he pleaded, _they're all staring_. Jazz reached out and took him by the wing. "Look, man," he said, drawing Chase close, much to the bomber's discomfort. "Slingshot's a hot head, an' we don't have a shortage of those. But sometimes he don't think before he acts. He's sorry, that much I can tell ya."

Venting air, Chase lowered his shoulder plates. Slowly, he turned his head, looking back on the half-finished decorating. There was the tree he had been promised he could set the star on; and the lights he was supposed to help Powerglide set. Did he really want to walk out of that when he had been having fun?

"Apology accepted," he said, squarely facing the Aerialbot. Slingshot's brow ridge rose, but he merely nodded and walked off. "I'd like to get back to the decorations, if I may?" he asked Jazz.

The saboteur nodded. "Have fun, man."

Well, that was what Christmas was about, right? Chase gave Jazz a small smile and jogged back to the tree, where his star was waiting.


	6. Sister Dear's Chase II

TF-Mech Exchange Jan'07  
_Chase_

**Ice Dancers**

The harsh wind blew against the reclined mech. Inadvertently, he shivered, a reaction to the cold heretofore he'd only seen in humans. _It's like a thousand plasma scalpels are piercing my plating_, he observed miserably. There was no place on Cybertron with temperatures like this. The wind howled, swooping down through this isolated valley in the state of Maine, cutting through every defense he'd been given. No amount of rubbing would bring warmth to his slowly freezing system lines.

_Now I know why the humans have a saying about it being so cold, it burns._

Why, oh why had he volunteered for this trip? It was a simple enough one – something an Aerialbot or any of the other flyers could have performed. But none of those flybots would deign to stoop so low as to bring EDC personnel to their vacation destination. Well, Silverbolt had offered his services, only to be carted away on a mission involving Superion. _All that Christmas "cheer" overloaded your good sense_, he muttered, peering at the rotor blades set into his forearm. Those had stopped quivering long ago.

"Chase! Care to join us?"

The brown transport pulled himself from his thoughts and stared down at the curly-haired woman who'd sluiced to a stop at his feet. Part of the reason why he hadn't left involved watching this peculiar human pastime – skating. The putting of blades on one's feet and moving around on the ice was something the woman, Aislynn, insisted he had to try. Apparently, she was going to try again – even after his staunch, if slightly rude, refusal. Watching allowed him to remain unjudged, which made him happy.

"No th-thank y-you," he replied, then started, amazed at the stuttering. His voice box was freezing!

Aislynn regarded him from under many layers of clothing. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at Chase with an intensity he often found intimidating. "See? If you don't get moving, you'll freeze."

_What an amazing observation!_ Chase found himself mentally sniping. "Oh, all right," he allowed, willing all the pistons and servos in his bulky brown frame to obey. Metal squealed as he flexed his joints. There was a brief, intense moment of pure terror as his legs refused to unbend. Panic flew through his cortex at warp speed and he began to flail from side to side, heedless of the consequences. _I can't move! I can't move! Oh, Primus!_

And then there was Aislynn, skates and all, climbing atop his knee joint, a small vial in one gloved hand. "Someone told me to bring this," she told his awestruck facial plates, a grin visible above the large cotton wrap that encircled her head. She pulled the top off the vial and squirted the liquid inside; as she moved to his other joint, Chase could feel the lubrication easing up his stiff joints. Carefully, he flexed his right leg, working the oil into every nook and cranny. Blessed, blessed relief!

"Th-thank you," he managed, crooking his left arm at her insistence.

A chuckle issued from within the wrap. "I'm a little confused as to why you don't have any on you," she observed, climbing across his cockpit to the other side. Those skates were doing a number on his paintjob, but Chase had worse damage. All this required was a quick trip to Raoul's body shop and he'd be good as new.

"I – uh …" Chase spluttered to a halt. That'd be admitting weakness. But Aislynn wasn't a superior, and she did just save him from humiliation. "I forgot," he mumbled, using his rotor forearm to help her off. More than that, he never considered staying up here for this long, and when that decision came, he never even considered taking the time to properly oil himself.

"It happens." Aislynn tucked the vial back into whatever pocket she'd pulled it from. "So, are you going to skate?"

The brown plane stood up and cycled through several warm-up exercises before replying. _There_! The wind bit less harshly now that he wasn't staid. Sombre blue optics drifted across the smooth plane of ice, to the three humans still moving around with more grace than he could hope for. "I'd crash through." _And kill all of you_, he added.

"I've been coming up here for years," Aislynn told him, "and I've never seen anyone crash through. And to prove my point," she added rapidly as he opened his lip components to protest, "my cousin once rolled a John Deere tractor from Granpa's farm down here – and it didn't sink. It cracked the ice a little, but we were able to pull it off after it had sat there for four hours."

Chase did some swift calculations: a staid tractor versus a moving Neutral. Was that one instance enough to risk five lives? "I think I weigh a little more than a tractor," he replied, gazing across the sleek ice.

Brown eyes regarded him steadily for a moment or two, then Aislynn nodded. "All right." She was an EDC officer; she could take his decision. "You can watch – but keep moving!"

He nodded. "I will." And it was never a more spark-felt promise. And to prove it, he gestured like he'd seen humans do on their entertainment channels, down to the lake. _Maybe there's a little Christmas spirit left in me, still_, he observed with a mental smile.

Together, human and Transformer meandered down to the lakeside. Chase helped Aislynn push off and began a slow, measured circuit of the lake. He watched her join her friends and they waved to him, calling out greetings. He merely nodded; there were only so many he'd give his true self to.

"_Autobot City to Neutral Chase."_

The femme voice rang in his head, startling him by coming out of nowhere. He mis-stepped, tripping on a snowdrift before recovering in a pinwheeling show of balance. _"Ch-chase here,"_ he replied, stuttering even through the comm. It was picked up immediately, blast the femme!

"_Are you all right, Chase?"_

"_Fine, fine,"_ he shot back with all of his old gruffness. Always trying to "mother", was Solarflare.

"_We need you back at the City,"_ she told him, brushing past his attitude.

"_Ten-four," _he muttered, and blissfully, the commlink shut down. "I'll be back at the end of the week to pick you up," he told Aislynn, who'd appeared at his side.

She nodded. "Fly safe."

He started to walk off when something hit him from behind. He turned and pulled the offending object from his shoulder plate – Aislynn's scarf. "To keep warm!" she shouted at him from where she was dancing on the lake. Chase chuckled at the absurdity, but pocketed it all the same. Maybe … maybe a Transformer-sized scarf wasn't a bad idea …


	7. Lilac Nocturne's Sweepstakes

TF/Mech Exchange Feb '08  
_Sweepstakes_

**Rocky Mountain High**

I shaded my optics and stared across the tarmac; it was a habit I'd picked up from the humans who worked side-by-side with my fellow Autobots. I could have easily made the change internally, but there was a fuel shortage these days, and every precious vial of Energon was being saved. Besides, the humans found the mimicry amusing, and I found it amusing in turn.

The last of my high-flying brethren left the City, off on one mission or the other. "Are you going with them?"

The voice issued from my right ankle and, carefully – as I'd learned some months ago – I turned to look down. A small human – a child, and male from what little I could gather – idled by my foot. "Are you going with them?" he repeated.

"Me?" I queried, my facial planes creeping upwards in a smile. "Naw, I'm no use for missions."

"But you're a plane," he insisted. "Planes fly."

He was going to hurt that thin neck of his, staring up at me. Remembering my orientation, I folded my legs up and sat on the tarmac, angling my wings so that they covered the worst of the sun's glare. "Well, I can certainly fly, but someone's got to keep the other planes in order. Y'see," I told him, leaning forward and looking at him green optic to brown orb, "I help them land."

The boy's little organic mouth popped open in an "O" expression, one I'd learned expressed awe. I nodded, wriggling my audio fans. That got a giggle out of him, so I did it again.

Static crackled in my commlink. _"Hey! Sweepstakes! Quit playing with the natives … and get that boy off the tarmac! He'll get sucked into a turbine."_

My vents whistled with a sigh. One leg after the other, I unfolded. I threw a glance at the flight tower, perched lower and built wider than the dominant communications tower. _"Read ya loud and clear, Carbon,"_ I radioed back, giving the flight director a wiggle of my audio fans. Luckily, Carbon's attention was elsewhere – then again, he didn't have spectacular vision. One optic had been lasered out by a Deception stellar cycles ago, and they couldn't fit the parts right again. "C'mon, kiddo," I told the boy, setting my tail fin to his buttocks, ushering him along with what I hoped were soft pats. Well, he laughed loud enough, so I didn't think I hurt him. Humans bruise so easily.

Passing him off to his harried female creator, I walked over to the boards and stood there, hands on hip plates, watching as one flight path or another crossed out of City space. Carbon would alert me when a cargo transport or one of the flyers needing assistance called. So ran my day: sending them off and guiding them back in. I'd been employed in such a manner stellar cycles ago, back before the days of war. And that's as much as I'd let out. My business has always been mine, and as long as my loyalty is firmly in hand, no one else need know otherwise.

Pretty femmes walked by, on their way to the training course. I waved at Tracer and she waved back, before ducking into the throng. Most were Paradron medics, using their course time to hone their skills; there were few combat femmes and those who were had infiltration duties, or worked in communication. The _very_ few, like Arcee, were gone for days on end, coming back in dire need of repair. Ah, slag, how I liked combat femmes – those ladies knew how to get to a mech!

I stood around, idling for several cycles. Some of the time, I cleaned the tarmac with the repair crew, the rest of the time I played with the small vid screen in the hangar bay and watched _The Amazing Race._

_Shhhhhzzzzzkkk!_

_"Yo!"_ I called up at the tower, spinning in my chair and switching the vid off.

_"Scramble, Sweepstakes!"_ Carbon thundered over the wide channel. _"We've got a flyer down in the mountains and you're the only winger we've got on base."_

I was on my thruster-feet instantly, Energon surging through my synthetic veins. _"Who is it?"_ I asked, running towards the tarmac, calling out for the crew. Humans and a Minibot ran out of another hangar at the same time, hearing the short claxon. I threw myself forward, transforming. My tires hit the tarmac before the first hard-breathing human dashed up in a cart.

_"Powerglide, the fool. Sending coordinates now."_

I didn't know the red fighter that well, but his reputation, like everything else, preceded him. I also knew that he was going to be grumpy and irascible, so I pulled up a few jokes to use while I was extracting his hide from rock. _"Is he online?"_ I asked as two crewmembers attached my grapple and rope to my undercarriage.

_"And swearing like a dockhand. Patching you in."_

_"Now, now, 'glide," _I heard Chief Comm Officer Blaster soothe, _"we've got a cat prepping to extract ya."_

A thin line of static, then: _"You're sendin' _Steeljaw_?"_

_"Naw, man, Sweepstakes. Ah, there you are, Sweeps. Ready to go?"_

_"Ready and –"_ I fired my boosters. _"—burnin',"_ I replied. _"I'll be there in less than a click."_

_"You better …"_

I shut myself off from the red jet. Grey tarmac was all that lay before me – that and the sky. The initial burn always made me giddy; it was a rush, a thrill, an orgy of overload all wrapped up into one glorious moment. Concrete flew under my wheels as I accelerated – faster, faster, faster …

AIR!

Wind flowed past my nosecone, tickling my undercarriage. I was free, I was _alive_. Below, Autobot City dwindled to nothing in the matter of nanoclicks – and then there was pure forest, as wide as my sensors could take in. I banked, twisting a flap here, a flick of my rudder there. With one part of my cortex locked on the air ahead, the rest of my system focused on the coordinates. All things considered, it was a relatively short flight.

I circled the barefaced mountain twice, spotting Powerglide's distinctive red tail and fuselage poking out of an outcropping of brown boulders. _"Sweepstakes here, how're you doing?"_

"_Just peachy,"_ came the grumpy reply. _"If you ever relay this to the rest of the base …"_

"_Hey, winger, I got your turbines. Look, I'm gonna pass once more, then I'll land and get you out."_

"_You do this often?"_ he asked as I banked right, trailing exhaust in the cooler air.

"_On Earth? Oh, once or twice."_

"_Great."_

"_Awr, listen – I heard this great rhyme in the mess the other day: 'There once was a man from Nantucket / Who sat on a pin and said' – "_

I went through a dozen anecdotes and rhymes before I judged the best spot to land. Now, here came the tricky part: I had to transform in midair and hit the ledge just right, and hope that my reactions were quick enough. Otherwise, I'd most likely take us both off the mountain. Transforming _out_ was easier than transforming _in_, as things were.

I spun and threw myself into rootmode. Heat from my boosters licked up the sides of my legs, scorching metal that wasn't protected by the special paint we wingers used. Ah, well, I hadn't had a session in Raoul's body shop for some time, and the ladies liked a freshly-painted mech.

Thank Primus, I hit the ledge. As soon as my feet touched rock, I threw the rest of my body forward, hugging the mountain face with arms wide open.

"What the slag did you do!?" Powerglide shouted, his words muffled.

"Workin'." As much as I love to talk, there's a time and place for everything. I could spin the jet a thousand tales once I had myself secure. I made quick work of attaching myself to the mountain's face, passing the ropes through bullclips megnaclamped to either hip plate. With that done, I inched over to where Powerglide lay, up to his midsection in rubble. He'd made several efforts to transform and shift the rock that way, but there were two particularly heavy boulders seated right on top of him. Pulling out my energy rifle, I made a few quick adjustments to the power setting. "Now, don't move," I cautioned.

"What –?!"

Setting my wings against the rock and putting one foot against a boulder, I proceeded to blow up the rocks. Powerglide, having been on Earth for so long, had an amazing repertoire of human swear words … which he used in an amusing fashion. I filed them all away for future use.

"Getting up! Getting up!" The pile of rubble shifted and I stood back as chucks of boulder went flying. Powerglide vented a massive groan and stood up, trailing rock bits like pixy dust. "What the slag was that?" he demanded, turning to face me and almost sliding off of the ledge in his haste. I reached out with my longer limbs and snatched the battlemasked Minibot from the brink.

"Well, not exactly the prettiest extraction I've ever made, but I never had to work with such little space." I smiled, wings lifting along with my shoulder plates in a half-shrug. Powerglide's blue optics glared at me for the briefest of moments, then he nodded.

"Thanks, pal. I owe ya." And to my shocked optics, he threw himself off the ledge and into a summersault. I heard the roar of boosters and watched in awe as Powerglide streaked away, having completed a move I'd longed to do.

"_Sweepstakes here,"_ I radioed City Tower.

"_Blaster here. I caught Powerglide on the comm. Nice piece 'a work, dude."_

Judiciously, I rolled up the lines tethering me to the mountain face and eyed the ledge. _"Thanks,"_ I replied. _"Heading home."_ If I could only get a clean leap, that is. My span was too big, my bulk far too large to attempt what Powerglide had done.

Ah, _slag_. Well, it was a nice day, and I looked forward to a good climb.


	8. Yuuzaiden's Star Destroyer

TF Mech Exchange March '08  
Star Destroyer

Higher Learning

The streets in front of the great Iacon library were clogged during this particular cycle. Mechs, femmes and the occasional servant-drone were all racing to get back to their dwellings. All save one tall blue and silver mech, an Autobot whose long limbs were wrapped around his passcard and a rather beat-up old trunk; a mech whose name belayed the soft, youngling facial planes: Star Destroyer. Behind him, the tram that had brought him to the premiere of Cybertron rumbled into the distance; it wouldn't be back this way for several cycles. Well, the mech couldn't have cared less. He'd waited for so many stellar cycles, working back-end jobs all over the suburbs to earn enough credits to make it this far.

Iacon was the center of so many things: science, learning, government … a mech or femme could make their fortunes here, or rise to prominence among the great Council if they were fortuitous enough. If he turned to the right, there was the dome of Iacon – the seat of power – rising high in the distance. To his left was the University.

"Hey! Move or get a ticket."

Star was jostled sideways by a rather rude shove to his torso. He stared at the Minibot with a mixture of shock and disbelief. The Minibot glared back before stalking off down the sidewalk. Venting a sigh, Star looked up at the bright, sparklingly brilliance that was the University. The campus stretched for miles all around, effectively taking up several blocks.

_Well, best get on with it_, Star told himself, tightening his grip on the worn box and gazing at the building. The entrance was set far back from the actual transitway, two golden arches covering a white-tiled path that led up to the front doors. Mechs and femmes entered and exited freely, some even coming off of the sidewalk and going right in without being stopped. Hope filled Star's chestplate until his Energon pump's beat sounded on the outside. He took one step, then another, until his long strides brought him to the University's door.

Star paused on the threshold, watching other Autobots come and go as they pleased. Some stared at him – rather, they stared _up_ at him. Star's creator had been fond of large objects, falsely believing that bigger was better. In reality, his height brought Star more woes than pleasures. He lost more jobs because he couldn't fit into the warehouses or under bridges. Construction work was difficult due to the long, almost-clawlike digits he'd been given. And then, there was his flyer status.

That he could fly, however, was only a theory.

The tight spaces and traffic of Iacon prevented all but the most gifted of flyers from successfully navigating the streets. Star's creator had vanished soon after completing his last mech, only imparting unto him what was necessary. Flight was _not_ on the list. So, though Star could transform, his knowledge of _how_ was lacking. His creator, probably a crosswire who liked to see how well Cybertronians could mimic organics, had left those important codes out of Star's operating system. No one would tell him how – and those who didn't turn away, merely laughed.

"Can I help you?"

Star jerked, his Energon pump kicking over. He looked down his nasal ridge and found a slight femme standing there, her night-colored armor smooth and showing no trace of altmode parts. "Can I help you?" the femme repeated, lowering her brow ridge slightly.

The tall, gangly youngster bowed his head. "I … uh … wanted to know if I could see the … library."

"The library?" the femme queried. "Why, certainly. It's open to all citizens." She stepped aside and tipped her head in the direction of the doors. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

She was so kind, Star's cortex almost seized. He wasn't used to such words or concern; she didn't even give his lofty height a second glance. He groped for words, finding that anything less than a simple sentence structure eluded him. "No, I … I just want to learn." There, he said it. It's what he came here for, right? He spent every last credit on travel.

"I see." The femme craned her neck, straining the cords to look at the box in his arms. "Where are you from?"

"Tolvex Province, fifty clicks west."

"Ah. That's a long way for a new-spark to journey. I'm Twilight, by the way, a tutor here at the University. What is your name?"

"S-tar … Star Destroyer."

Twilight's optic shutters fluttered. "My," she said, obviously groping for a tact response. Star had seen that many times before. Well, it was the only name he knew. "Where did you get that fine appellation?"

Star shrugged. "My creator. He had a … liking for unusual names. Ones that contradicted the person."

A smile drifted onto Twilight's facial planes. "I see. Well, you certainly seem like a star, but nothing like a destroyer. The juxtaposition rather suits you."

The door opened behind Twilight and she held it open as it swung to close. "Come inside, Star Destroyer, and we'll see what we can do about you learning. The University is open to all who want to rise to greater heights. Please, come with me."

"Oh, thank you … th-thank you," Star burbled, the words spilling from his lip components in one long wave. He dutifully followed Twilight into the foyer – a great open expanse. Above, the ceiling stretched to well over a hundred feet or more, colored Plasglas shaped into delicate patters which spilled onto the floor. Star stepped into one of these shapes, raising his free hand and marveling at the way it turned his armor into a fun shade of indigo. Somehow, the light softened the sharp angles of his digits, making them appear less threatening, more … normal.

There were several couches, chairs and other lounging apparatus strewn about the foyer in a comforting mess. Vid screens lined the walls, and a runner ran the length of the wall, announcing various class schedules or meeting information.

Twilight smiled and gestured. "This way."

Star stepped forward, out of the light, and as he took a second step, all the vids in the room switched to the same image. All conversation stopped as every optic in the foyer was trained on one of the vid screens.

"**Violence has erupted in Kaon,"** a disembodied voice noted, coming from the vids. **"The gladiatorial arenas have virtually spilled over into the surrounding provinces. It is unclear whether these attacks are the product of an entity known only as 'Megatron' – a former gladiator whose penchant for utterly destroying his opponents landed him thousands of followers – or a random outburst. We are waiting for word from Sentinel Prime and will bring it to you as soon as possible."**

As suddenly as it had occurred, the vids switched back to whatever program they were running before the interruption. No one was watching, however; every voice was raised in discussion – or terror.

Star stood, leg-locked. The box containing all of his posessions clattered to the floor in shock. He stared, gape-mouthed, seeing nothing. _How could this be?_

A soft hand touched his torso. "Come, Star. Let us see you to the dean."

"But – but …"

"Only time will tell what becomes of this uprising. For now, we have things to do." Numbly, Star nodded. Twilight bent over and picked up his box, handing it to him. "Follow me," she said, and walked on. Star followed, hoping that things would indeed blow over. He had so much to do.


	9. DarkDancer's Sunsinger & Nighthawk

**TFMech-Exchange April '08  
**_Sunsinger & Nighthawk  
_Obedience School

"Here, puppy, puppy," Sunsinger cooed, slapping her knee-guards in the same manner she'd witnessed in the park earlier in the day. "C'mon, boy!"

The object of her attention lay resting his golden head on tough, plasma-tempered paws, basking in the last warm rays the day had to offer. Slitted optic ports remained dim, pointedly ignoring the young femme's pleas.

"What on Cybertron are you trying to do?"

Sunsinger glanced over one silver-sheened purple shoulder strut at her spark-twin. She sighed pointedly. "It's _Earth_, Hawk. We're on Earth."

Nighthawk shrugged, folding his green legs under him. "Okay," he relented, "what on _Earth_ are you trying to do?"

The little femme adjusted her stance, curling up next to her brother. "Jazz an' Bumblebee took me to the park today, and I saw these humans playing with creatures called 'dogs'." Nighthawk slid closer, knowing a tale when he heard one. Sunsinger grinned. "They come in so many armor colors – er, 'fur' – and sizes, too. I got to play this game called 'fetch' with a big brown and black dog named Bullet."

"What's 'fetch'?"

"Well, humans have these small round rubber balls – or sticks – and they throw them some distance. The object is to have the dog run after the ball and bring it back. And you do it over and over again. It's great fun!"

The forest green youngling mech frowned. "That doesn't sound like fun," he admitted. "Sounds like work."

Sunsinger prodded him playfully. "I thought so too, but then I did it. It really _is_ fun! The dog is so excited, and watching him run, and his eyes …" Sunsinger sighed happily. "Then we had to leave. But then I remembered that the big red mech – uhm, Blaster, I think – he had a dog. So I went looking for him, but he won't play with me."

Nighthawk's optics wandered over to the golden lump of metal laying in the sunlight. "Him?"

"Yeah, but he's not playing nice. All the dogs I met were so happy to play. All he's doing is recharging."

"Maybe he needs something interesting to play with."

"Like what?"

"I dunno! I wasn't there."

Sunsinger pouted, digging Nighthawk with an elbow. She folded her arms in her lap and hunched down, staring at the golden-plated creature in the dying sunlight. She tried wracking her cortex for something – anything – that would tempt him into play. He'd been based off a dog, so shouldn't he act like one? Right?

"Hey."

"What?" Sunsinger looked up into her twin's optics. Nighthawk was practically jiggling, which was unusual of him. _She_ was the excitable one; he was the calmness that centered her in the wild moments.

"Why don't we have him chase _us_?"

The little femme sat up straight, all audios. The very thought of burning rubber was setting her neuros all a-quiver. She'd been wanting to test the limits of her altmode for some time now. But Jazz, in a moment of uncharacteristic caution, told her that she had to take it easy. Humans frowned on speeding objects – it went against their laws, or something. What was the point of having wheels and a system built for speed if you couldn't use them? There was so much about this adoptive planet that the little femme was confused about.

"That's a great idea!" she cried even as her body automatically folded to the whim of her cortex. In short order, two sleek motorcycles, one purple and the other green, balanced on the cooling ground. "Me first!" With a thought, she set her back tire spinning, kicking up surface dirt and sending it hurtling into the air. Joy shot through her system as she peeled forward, popping an enthusiastic wheelie – a maneuver she learned on the way home. Her innate sense of balance allowed her to weave around the recharging creature, Nighthawk hot on her exhaust pipes. "C'mon, puppy! Chase!"

The twins spun in circles around the golden, four-legged creature, laughing. They called out in turns to him, trying to entice him to come online and join them. Sunsinger braked, spinning on her inner axis then raced away. Nighthawk's cry of confusion echoed in her inner comm, but she simply laughed as he stopped his circling and followed. _He's _got_ to follow us now_, she thought wildly. But when she turned a sensor to scan her rear, there was nothing. The creature still lay with his head on his forepaws. Irritation wormed through Sunsinger's cortex; the dog was ignoring her. Pulling a tight circle, she popped into rootmode and stood there, hands on her hip plates.

"Play with us!" she screamed at the mechanical dog. She felt Nighthawk transform and stand beside her. "Got any better ideas?" she practically snapped at her spark-twin. The forest green mech opened his mouth, but the golden dog shifted. Both younglings turned their full attention back to the spot, ready to take up the chase.

Slowly, the golden being lifted his head; he rose, extending forelegs while stretching the hind, one limb at a time. He then arched his back, plates shifting and servos popping. After this elaborate ritual, he planted his aft on the ground and regarded the twins with impassive blue optics. Huge jaws sporting plasma-tempered canines yawned open; a deep, rumbling voice issued from his vocalizer. "Play with you? After you wrecked my perfectly good bask? No, I don't think so."

Sunsinger felt her jaw unhinge; her twin was no less surprised. But it was the femme who could control her own vocalizer first. "But … but you're a dog. Dogs play."

"Yes, yes, dogs do play. But I am Steeljaw – and I am certainly _not_ a dog!" As if for emphasis, Steeljaw yawned again, baring those long fangs. "I am a cat, and cats do not chase." A slow smile tugged at the golden Autobot's jaws. "Yes, I am a cat – and we _hunt_."

Sunsinger looked at Nighthawk, optics wide. As one, their attention slid back to the mechanical cat. Steeljaw was still grinning, an expression that touched his slitted blue optics; his jaw dropped and a throaty chuckle vented from his vocalizer. Then he crouched, forequarters low to the ground, hind up in the air. "Run sparklings."

_Uh-oh_, Sunsinger thought, turning to her twin. But Nighthawk was already running, throwing himself into altmode and speeding down the dirt path. _Traitor_, she huffed, turning away from the galloping Steeljaw. Her long legs with their powerful pistons churned the dirt before she transformed, spinning her wheels in place for one pump-stopping moment before gaining purchase and rocketing away.

Steeljaw loped after them with all the energy of a well-rested cat; it would be a good hunt.


	10. Kapricia's Cabaret

**Watch the Grass on the Other Side**

TF Mech Exchange Aug 08

Cabaret

"Oh, _ugh_!"

Cabaret jerked backwards, shaking her right foot up and down. Clumps of processed organic matter fell from her booted leg with a wet, sucking sound. "Disgusting!" The black and purple femme turned her foot over to examine the mess. Brown waste was smeared all over the bottom of her foot. "Uncivilized!" she exclaimed, dragging her foot back and forth over the wet grass. "Is anything on this crude, organic world organized? They can't even process fuel into proper containment units!"

She scraped her foot several more times before she was satisfied that the mess was thoroughly removed. The smell, on the other servo, was another matter. It clung to her foot and wafted towards her nasal passage. What had started out as a banner cycle was slowly turning into a nightmare of a trek. Finding that blip of an AllSpark fragment this morning was unexpected, but the prospect of depriving the Autobots and her Decepticon comrades of one more always thrilled her.

Cabaret pulled her meter out of subspace and watched the reading on the screen. It was getting stronger. The femme smiled to herself and began walking in an easterly direction, following the pulses on her view screen. As she crested a small slope, the signal almost exploded with the closeness of the fragment. Satisfaction wreathed Cabaret's facial planes; she jogged forward, optics eagerly searching the tall bluegrass for that shiney silver shard.

**Warning**!

Cabaret slid to a stop, optics wide. **Warning**! her system blared. **Autobot approaching**. She spun in a circle, scanning the meadowland, audios open for the tell-tale sounds of engines. _Slag, where are you?_ Cautiously, Cabaret backed up behind a tree that was just wide enough to hide her slim frame. With her back to the trunk, she pulled her scanner out and peered at the reading, toggling the system to focus on Autobot energy signatures instead of AllSpark fragments. Whoever it was, it was coming in fast.

The black and purple femme slid the scanner back into subspace and peered around the trunk of the tree. With one hand, she slid her boomerang from its hidden location. Just then, she heard the low hum of anti-grav generators. Cabaret flicked her gaze skyward just in time to catch a dark grey shape fly overhead and disappear over the rise.

A flying Autobot? Since _when_? "There's no way I'm letting that thing get my fragment!" Cabaret hissed. She leapt from her hiding spot and charged up the hill. As she crested the rise, she spotted the grey Autobot on the ground; it had transformed and was lifting a shining fragment to the sun. "Oh, no you don't!" Cabaret pulled back and let her boomerang fly with deadly accuracy towards the Autobot. She kept running, ready to snatch the fragment from the fallen Autobot's offline servo when the boomerang hit.

The Autobot's head snapped up and it spun around, revealing a femme's face. Much to Cabaret's surprise, the grey femme bent out of the weapon's path, but not quick enough to avoid it completely. The serrated weapon clipped her on the right wind, cutting a deep gash through the thin metal. The femme went down with a gasp, clutching the appendage, dark green fluid leaking from the cut.

Cabaret smirked; Academy 'bots went down so easily. She darted forward, hand outstretched to snatch the fragment. A blur of grey and black marred her vision; blinding pain exploded on one side of her cranium and the Decepticon femme felt herself flying in the opposite direction. Cabaret lifted herself upright, spitting grass and grime. The Autobot femme was getting to her feet, staring at her with the intensity of a hunting cyberhound.

"That was good, Autobot," Cabaret growled, "but that fragment is mine." She lifted both arms and unlocked the mechanisms that kept her cannons hidden. The weapons slid forward, humming to prime-mode. Cabaret sighted and fired. The meadow lit up like a plasma factory, fire spewing in all directions. _Well, that should take care of that_, the femme decided, sliding her cannons back into their arm holds and dusting off her hands.

Fire burned in an arc around the meadow as she walked up to the site. There, glittering in the grass, was the AllSpark fragment. Cabaret bent down and picked it up, wiping smoke stains from its reflective surface. Power hummed between those jagged edges, calling to the other that was in her possession. Smiling with satisfaction, Cabaret slid the fragment into a panel in her thigh where the other one jingled. She turned to the burning countryside and saluted. "So long, Autobot." With a turn of her heel, she strolled down the rise.

And then she was _falling_, slipping and sliding through a large patch of organic matter. Limbs flew in every direction, smashing against small rocks embedded in the turf. She rolled down the hill and for a few more feet before coming to a stop in an undignified sprawl. The world spun in static-y circles, mixed colors and black and white. With her equilibrium shot, all the femme could do was lay there until her body could heal itself.

"You really watch your step, femmecon," a husky femme voice mused overhead. "Cow patties are deadly."

Powerless, Cabaret stared up at the blackened face of the grey Autobot. She felt sharp fingers tap at her body, poking and prodding until they landed upon her thigh. "Those are mine, Autoscum!"

"Hmph, seems these are mine," the other femme returned, pulling the AllSpark fragments from the compartment. She turned and walked away until she disappeared from view. Cabaret snarled to herself, thrashing upon the dung-smeared grass. Even if she'd disabled the other femme's powers of flight, by the time she was fully functional, it would be too late.

_Slag_.

It smelled.


End file.
